


Earthbound

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zählt
Genre: Dark, Dark Crack, F/F, Rape/Non-con Elements, girlslash-on-a-grave, grave desecration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your fiancé's getting bad haircuts in heaven, what can you do but screw your best friend on his grave?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earthbound

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the whacky grave-digging shenanigans somewhere in the mid-540s. Originally written for the sole purpose of ~~amusing~~ terrorising Graspthethorn and carefully hidden away but eh, might as well share. Just do mind the warnings, lol.
> 
> ~~~

"Julian is dead." She says it tonelessly, notes without interest that there is no grief or anger in her voice. She feels curiously light - not freed, just emptied. Hollowed out, like the hole she'd tried to dig into the grave.

"I know," she hears Annette say, her breath warm and anguished against Diana's temple. Her friend is a warm, solid weight against her back, soft curves, strong arms, the smell of bergamot in her hair. Diana wishes she'd let go, would just leave her alone already. Annette's all made of warmth and comfort and stupid, stubborn life, all the things that she doesn’t want right now.

Annette gives her shoulders a light shake. "Damn it, Diana," she sob-whispers into her ear. "Damn you, why won't you stop? Why won't you come back to us?"

She doesn't answer. Leans forward instead, cups loose earth between her fingers. It's cool and soothing, slightly damp. Annette slaps it from her fingers, sends it flying wide in scattered clumps. "Stop it!" she yells, twisting herself around Diana so she can look her in the face. She's so pale that her eyes look black. They flicker all over Diana’s face, unwilling or incapable of resting in one place. Annette’s hands frame her face, warm against her chilled skin.

"Please," Annette says; she sounds like she's crying but her eyes are dry. "Please, Diana, oh please. I was so worried."

She kisses her, then, soft, warm lips all over her cheeks, on her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth. "Stop it," she says in between kisses, gusting warm clouds of breath against Diana’s face. "Stop it, just stop it, I need you to stop this. It's madness. Just stop."

Diana wants to tell her that she _is_ stopping, that she's already stopped. She's not doing anything, is she? She's just sitting here, with the damp earth from Julian's grave soaking through the bottom of her jeans. Julian, who's not out there somewhere, not looking for her, not sending her messages, not doing anything. He's right here, less than two metres below her, in a wooden cask. Rotting. No, she has no desire to do anything, so Annette can just shut up about it. She wants to tell her that, but talking seems to take a dreadful amount of energy. What's the point, anyway.

Annette is still kissing her; kissing and stroking her hair and shaking her and saying things, nonsensical things like, "Oh god, if I'd lost you," and "Don't ever" and most of all, "Please," over and over.

It's annoying. Diana turns her head, mouths a "Shhhhhh" against Annette’s frantically moving lips. "Be quiet," she murmurs, and Annette takes her by surprise when she pulls back and yells in her face, "How could you do that? Damn you, Diana, do we really matter that little to you? Do I matter that little?"

Diana closes her eyes, tries to drown out her friend’s irritating, demanding, warm presence. She sinks back from Annette's steadying arms, lets herself drop on top of the grave. It's started to drizzle slightly; there's a fine mist of cool wetness settling on her face, still more air than water. Diana tilts back her head, exposing her neck to it, and then suddenly it's blocked, Annette's weight heavy and warm and unwelcome atop her, blocking the soothing mist.

"You selfish bitch," her friend snarls, and it's the note of desperate venom in her voice – a note that she's never heard, raw and ragged and angry and pleading - that makes Diana open her eyes. She blinks up into Annette's flushed face, and this time when Annette kisses her, it's not soothing or friendly; this time there are hard teeth behind her soft lips, digging into Diana's mouth, and her tongue thrusting in between, shockingly warm and wet and alive.

Diana makes a startled noise but Annette doesn't leave her any room for protest; she's pinning her down, pushing against her, biting as much as she's kissing, and when Diana arches up, trying to dislodge her, there's an immediate shove back down and Annette's knee slides between her thighs, pressing upwards. Everything goes hazy for a moment, the grey-white sky tilting above her and she's not sure anymore if she's looking up at it or falling down into it. She's only grounded by the wetness of the earth beneath and the breathless, furious woman above her: this woman whom she doesn't know, who claims her mouth ruthlessly and nearly breaks the bones in her wrist as she holds her down, even while her other hand fumbles for the buttons on Diana's jeans. "He's not coming back," Annette half-snarls, half-sobs into her face, against her slack lips. "Okay? He's gone, but we're still here. I'm still here, you fucking coward!" The earth is shockingly cold against her skin when her jeans are roughly pulled down, and Annette's fingers are no longer warm; they're chilled as well, moist with drizzle and soft earth. She does struggle, then, bringing her leg up, wrenching free her hands, and she's strong from years of training, much stronger than Annette, but somehow she doesn’t end up shoving her off. Somehow one of her hands gets tangled in Annette's hair and her other hand clamps onto Annette's hip and when Annette sinks her teeth into the skin of her neck and her chilled fingers slip and slide between Diana's thighs, she pushes up to meet them, surprised at the sudden spark of white heat, the slippery rush of arousal when Annette's thumb finds her clit. Two fingers sink deep, without finesse or rhythm, but Diana lets her legs splay open; she's pushing down against the wet grave earth and up against Annette's soft, warm curves.

She tugs and tears at Annette's red coat, the only fleck of colour in an otherwise colourless world, pops buttons off the blouse underneath; she's scratching gouges into Annette's back and when her breasts spill free, she cups them eagerly, pushing them together and filling her hands with the soft weight of them, the rough texture of her dark pink nipples hardening in the chill air. Lifting her head, she takes one in her mouth and sucks, hard. Annette cries out and moves her hand faster, her thumb circling rhythmically, and Diana's hips are snapping up almost without her own volition. The drizzle's coming down harder now and the earth seems to move beneath them as it turns gradually to mud. Her bare back and bottom are slippery with it, and Annette's fingers are smearing it against the tender skin of her splayed lower lips and clit; she can feel the rough texture of it trapped between her slippery folds and Annette's moving hand. It's that, in the end, that pushes her over: the roughness of grave earth against her wet flesh, rubbed into her as she lies there gasping, with her face buried in Annette's soft breasts and her eyes blurring over. Her back arches and she screams, the sound drowning out as she falls upwards, upwards into the wet grey sky, floating away from the clinging grasp of earth and its cold pleasure.

Later, they walk home silently, covered in mud, a foot's distance between them, and when Diana starts to cry - soundlessly and with her head bowed so Annette won’t see - it isn't Julian she’s mourning.


End file.
